


Orange and Red

by pumpkinblood



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Clown Porn, Dry Humping, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, pennywise - Freeform, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 15:29:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14917958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinblood/pseuds/pumpkinblood
Summary: orange and red are your favorite colors.you love your clown.





	Orange and Red

**Author's Note:**

> self-indulgent trash. just like all of my penny fics! also thigh-riding is a massive kink esp with pennywise - his entire costume is a kink lbr.
> 
>  
> 
> i don't care if penny is ooc. i love all interpretations of this dumbo clown. this just happens to be mine! it's just fiction. let's just have fun with the character.  
> i used to be pumpkinwise on tumblr if you're from the penny fandom!

Orange and red had always been your favorite colors. They were underrated, in your mind, no one ever mentioned orange or red being a favorite. The color of leaves in Autumn, bringing about memories of old times, long-ago Halloweens and fall festivals, pumpkins and store-bought blood, rich and elegant and playful all in one. The color of eyes, wicked, blinding nightlights in your room at three in the morning, in the dark grey camouflage of the sewers, orange-ish gold rimmed with scarlet. The color of lips, deep dark burgundy that ran up white cheeks in sharp clean lines, bent and pulled as the face they resided on bent and pulled. The color of pom-poms, soft, fluffy things, childish things, that shuddered and moved as he walked - you liked to press your face into his, into it’s, chest, the tickling of the poms against your cold cheek like an embrace, like home. He was home. It was home.

Gloved fingertips ran over your forearms and up to your biceps slowly, teasingly, glowing orange eyes fluttered in reverence at you, the small, tiny human who was currently perched upon the clown’s thigh, legs wrapped around its girth and you could cry he looked so beautiful before you. You had never been quite attracted to ordinary and Pennywise was nowhere near it - extraordinary, even, was an understatement. Ever since first interacting with the eldritch clown he had been not only so interesting as a being, but visually intriguing to you as well. Everything about his facade, from the silken gloves to the laced shoes to the peplum at his hips, had you utterly entranced. The clown’s costume only added to the lingering excitement you always had when he was around, when you even came across him in your thoughts. You were in love with the way he looked, the way he felt against your fragile skin, each lace and ruffle and puff, so unknown, so alien.

But the pressure in-between your thighs was not as foreign.

Pennywise didn’t speak much - using words was not his forte. Usually he animated his feelings through action, not speech. Now that you thought about it, you weren’t even sure if the clown used language like humans did, it was possible he merely replicated sounds back to you that he knew had meaning. He didn’t need to speak, though, and his silence was so overwhelming, and he could still communicate with you - read you like an open atlas. Especially in the situation you currently found yourself in, naked and poised on his spread thigh, wet heat dripping from your core down onto the scalloped fabric of his trousers. You didn’t know clothing could feel this damn good against your skin, how just the mere sight of his Victorian garb could get you throbbing. Pennywise had you so entirely whipped that every small detail of him had you splayed about like a filleted fish.

Eyes so full of wonder were trained on you, seemingly peeking into your soul as you tried your hardest not to move, not to give in to the near primal urges boiling in your lower abdomen. With only a look, Pennywise had you so worked up and so hot for him, he could sense it, smell it, and for once in his long, long life, he found an aroma that made him hunger for something other than flesh. The clown liked when you sat upon him, trained like a dog to perch on his lap, and you were so pliant towards him - you never once said no or even wanted to say no - you were so willing. So giving to him, Pennywise thought, and he’d be sure to give back to you. He was oh so generous, after all.

Willpower stood no match against the beast before you as he began to slowly, slowly bounce his knee up and down like a mother would an ailing child, his candy apple smile turning wicked as he knew exactly where the pleating on his pants was rubbing against on your body. The jerking motion of his thigh gave you the sweetest friction, your exposed clitoris bumping on his leg with each movement he made, and your face twisted in pleasure at the feeling. In your mind, he had won, you gave up your internal struggle to not embarrass yourself in front of the clown, you began to replicate his motions and ground your hips down into his costume. Somehow the silk acted almost like a tongue made of fabric, gently swooning underneath your hot core and you could only sigh and breathe out into the damp air. 

Pennywise didn’t move his eyes from you as he alternated between jutting his thigh and swaying it back and forth much too slowly, your hips involuntarily following him. By now you were panting and outright moaning, your hands gripping onto the front of his frilly costume, your fingers burying themselves into the large, soft ruffle about his neck. You began to ride his thigh rougher, the gentle push and pull was just not enough for you at this point. Pennywise noted the change in your demeanor, the gliding of your cunt on his leg getting faster and he could nearly taste your desperation so he snaked his sizable hands from his sides to your hips, grabbing onto the soft pudge of flesh there. He helped you by harshly pulling your body forward and letting it fall backwards, allowing you to work yourself against him more properly. The silk of his gloves against your heated skin felt cool, and it sent you keening against him, falling forward into his chest. Biting onto one of the pom-poms on his front, you both found a good, fast rhythm where he was basically moving you back and forth on his upper thigh and you could only holler out muffled noises and hold on tightly to the clown as he gave you everything you had wanted. Embarrassment had flown out the window and you were unabashed, grinding down so hard your own thighs began to ache. It all still wasn’t enough, though.

In your pleasure hazed mind, you began to fumble about your hips and soon found one of the clown’s hands, naked fingers caressing the soft fabric his hand was encased in. Something about the gloves was so enticing to you, the fact they were so skin-tight and so velvety against you. Your hand pressed over his while it was still clutched to your hip, gently tracing over each and every pleat in the fabric, every stitch, every pucker of silk. These gloves were so well put together, so neat, it was hard to believe they were attached to such a monster, but you thought it fit Pennywise well. You couldn’t imagine him without the accessories he sported. 

As you lovingly stroked over his fingers, Pennywise began to make a soft, barely there noise deep in his chest, the only reason you even heard it was because your face was still pressed there with the pom-pom between your chattering teeth, and in the moment of it all tears pricked your eyes as you realized he was purring. The fact that this abomination, this terror, had so willingly given you, his minute little human, what you had craved for, and at your tender touch he had approved and hummed like a cat, made you so filled to the brim with emotions you never thought you’d feel for a monstrous clown. 

The clown pushed your fingers away, only for a moment, before suddenly arching his leg, forcing your pelvis upwards. You nearly sobbed out again from the loss of contact, you had been so close, but Pennywise didn’t leave you hanging for too long as he shoved his still-gloved hand underneath you, so that your cunt was now resting on his palm, fingers pressed into your clitoris. His knee began to bounce again and the new position and the glove being against your skin had you howling into his chest in a matter of seconds.

The feeling of the glove pushed against your vulva was honestly indescribable, the smooth texture rubbing so roughly, the feeling of his soft fingertips swirling and circling your clit had you seeing stars and you bucked your hips in tandem with his hand and his thigh. Wetness gushed from you all over his palm and dripping down his leg, saturating the fabrics and making a mushy squelching noise which only egged you on further. You willed yourself enough to pull back from the clown’s chest, releasing the spit soaked pom and gazing up at him through hooded eyes.

When your eyes met his the slow purring in his chest increased to a hard vibration. You were such a special treat to the clown; so soft and giving and warm, so unlike himself, but somehow, so similar. Similar enough, even, that he had decided the moment he saw you he would not eat you, not in a literal sense, anyways, and as much as the clown was reluctant to admit it he had gained quite a soft spot for you. For you only, of course, as you were the only little human, little fragile, breakable thing, that gave more than flesh to him, more than just a mere food item. You never stunk of fear before him, only wonder, curiosity, lust, and something more - something sweet, it smelled of candied pecans and honeyed blueberries. He never got his fill, it seemed, of the aromas that wafted off of your pliant body. 

Your hips dragged across his hand harder, and harder, Pennywise moved his palm beneath you to assist you in reaching your climax, which you could feel building in the base of your spine. Mouth hung open in abandon, panting and moaning and whimpering and writhing in his lap, his other hand still grasped onto your right hip. Desperately, you pleaded with your eyes, _please, Pennywise, please, let me come, make me come, please, please, plea- oh._

The silked tips of his fingers pressed into your entrance, ever so slightly, just enough for you to feel that beautiful sting of pleasure as he prodded. In any other case it would have tickled, but the sensation was just enough to push you over the edge, heat flowing from the center of your core outwards until your body was flooded with white hot sparks, and you were shaking, squirming, wailing, silent-screaming into the air above both of you. Hands gripping so tightly into the puffs of fabric at the clown’s shoulders the knuckles went white, as you belted out his name into the heavens, Pennywise was so fascinated at the way your body reacted to such a simple touch, how head-over-heels you were with nothing but a quivering of your pelvic floor muscles. He didn’t quite understand your emotions, which were pouring out of you just as your wetness pooled from your cunt as you came, but he appreciated them nonetheless, in his own, alien, eldritch way. Some could say he even adored you, loved you, maybe not in a typical human manner, but his version of the attraction was one only you could come to crave from him.

With Pennywise, it took you so long, eternities, to come down from that splendid high, unlike any lover you’d had before. He fingerfucked you through your climax, gentle palm sliding across your twitching clit as his knuckles worked against that spot so deep inside you. He didn’t have any consideration for how sensitive your body was after an orgasm, he only wanted to see how far he could take you, how loud you could get, how tight you could clench around his appendages, but when you began to openly sob with tears pushing down your face at how good it felt, how painful it was to continue being stimulated, he allowed you release, and he let you go, slowly sliding his dripping hand out from under you. 

Panting, you pressed yourself forward and let his ruffles swallow your face, turning so that you could still see him out of the corner of your eye. A gentle grin graced your flushed face as you watched him investigate his wet fingers, eyeing how your wetness soaked through the glove and clung to the fabric. You giggled tiredly when he pressed a small kiss to his saturated glove, then pushed those fingers to your own lips, as if he was transferring the little peck from his mouth to yours via the fingers he’d fucked you with. Laughter bubbled over the clown’s lips as well as he wrapped his long arms around you, embracing another being was something foreign to him but it only felt right with you, tiny red striped bells jingling as he moved, the music of the accessories lulling you into peace. Pennywise was peace - so strangely, he was peace, comfort, music, everything good in your life had arisen from him. You knew in the back of your mind how alternative and how ostracizing it was, to love this clown, this monster, but you genuinely couldn’t bring yourself to give a shit because he was so good, so good to you, and he knew how to break you apart and put you together again. The orange and red of the poms and the orange and red of his eyes, dying back to a sea of baby blue, the last colors you saw in your mind’s eye before pushing the totality of your face into the clown’s chest, arms wrapping around to caress the textured stitching on the back of his suit.

Orange and red had always been your favorite colors.


End file.
